


Between Us

by sweetjamielee



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:04:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetjamielee/pseuds/sweetjamielee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cary is coming home, Will is finding his way.  Kalinda says she’s the same person, but Alicia Florrick has changed.  She likes to think she’s stronger now, and she’s tired of hiding from everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through 3x21.

“So just between us…” Cary slinks a little closer on his barstool, tone lowering maybe one note in barely-successful conspiracy.  “Are you _really_ glad I’m back?”

She looks at him askance from her own perched position, eyebrow quirking in amusement.  Springsteen is on the jukebox, wanting just a little of that human touch while the Lockhart Gardner (Lockhart Lyman?) gang talks and jokes jovially around them, enjoying the after-hours levity.  Only one drink past functionally sober, but Cary’s got on that face she remembers, the goofy one with the half-lopsided smile.  “It’s always been more fun working the same side of the courtroom with you, Cary.  Yes.”

He’s easily satisfied with the answer, settling back with a bigger smile and gripping his glass with both hands.  “Good.  I feel the same.” 

Their brief silence is companionable and it _is_ nice, she thinks; antagonism of every sort is getting old.  Alicia looks across the bar; Diane is in an intense and lively but seemingly good-natured debate with Julius about the fiscal merits and drawbacks of Obamacare.  A few yards away stand Will and Kalinda, leaning against the wall with beer bottles in hand.  Will is telling a story, gesturing at the air and laughing about something while Kalinda looks on with mild entertainment, and their enjoyment of the moment seems genuine.  It’s good to see Will smile – for reasons other than reassuring Alicia that he’s okay.  That _they’re_ okay.

It’s something Alicia maybe should have noticed before now – the new, more affectionate camaraderie between Will and Kalinda.  Maybe she _had_ noticed it, but selective ignorance was one of her greatest skills, and overthinking it would have probably bothered her not so long ago.  Now, blinders off, she doesn’t feel threatened or jealous, really; just a keen sense of the passage of time, and the changes it brings.

 “So tell me what I need to know coming back in,” Cary speaks up again, pulling her from her reverie.

“Well.”  She considers.  “Will is trying to stay involved without ticking off the Bar, but is just managing to tick off everyone else.  David Lee and Eli have been engaged in a pissing match that’s equal parts irritating and entertaining.”  Cary gives her a ‘that sounds about right’ grunt and head-nod.  “Also, David Lee hates me now, for reasons no longer important enough to explain.”

“O-kay,” he draws, tilting his head in somewhat perplexed thanks.  “I’ll be prepared.”  Another few beats, and despite the easy feel of the evening she feels something coming; he’s too unguarded now to be sly.  “…And you and Kalinda…?” he asks carefully, and there it is.

It’s novel; someone just out and asking.  One look, and she knows that he knows.  Maybe not _everything,_ but more than most, and definitely the part that involves Kalinda and her husband.  It surprises her sometimes that after everything in the past few years she can still feel embarrassed, but it’s something she’s never quite become habituated to. 

Still, coy has never worked well for her, and it seems pointless now, so she responds, “Better.  Not bad.”  Because it’s true; it’s not _good,_ but it’s far less bad.

Cary nods.  “I figured.   _She’s_ better.”  He’s quiet for a moment and she thinks (hopes) maybe he’ll let it drop, but then: “I know it’s not my business…”

“It’s really, really, not,” she agrees with feeling, knowing it’s fruitless because he’s been drinking and has always been a little bit of a fool for Kalinda.

“… _But._ You should be kind to her.  You’ll never find someone who will fight harder for you.”

His words singe the frayed edges of her emotions.  The righteous indignation that had once fueled satisfaction at hurting Kalinda is long dried up, and Alicia’s been a little ashamed that it was ever there in the first place. 

It’s herself she doesn’t trust by now; she knows pity can look like caring, and remorse can look like loyalty.  She looks at Kalinda’s face sometimes and has no idea what she’s seeing.

She wants to tell Cary his opinion is duly noted and change the subject, but… “I’m still figuring it out.  I’d like to...  But friendship out of guilt doesn’t sit well.”  Goddamn wine, she blames.  She’s talked to exactly no one about this, and it all weighs in her chest – a crucible with no valve for release.  It’s out before she can remind herself it’s not sharing time, and even if it were it’s not something she wants to do with Cary Agos.

There’s a second where it registers; he blinks with an infinitesimal shake of his head and is almost comical in his disbelief.  “Guilt.”

It sounds like he thinks she’s crazy, and she feels it for opening her mouth.  “Don’t worry about it, Cary.” 

“Oh, Alicia.”  His eyes roll to the heavens on a sigh.

 “Never mind,” she repeats, hating herself and him a little bit too.  It’s getting late, and she should go home anyway, while she can still drive.  “Finish your drink.  This is your night.”  Maybe if she can distract him…

“You know she’s in love with you, right?”

She decides she’s misheard him, and once his cherubic face proves otherwise she decides instead the drinks here are stronger than she’d thought.  “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

“It means exactly what…”  They’re startled by a burst of laughter from the other side of the bar; Diane has her head thrown back and Julius is grinning for the first time Alicia’s ever seen, and it’s one of those kinds of nights.  Cary stops, seeming to catch himself in the midst of a crime he never had the balls to commit.  Instead, he looks down at his lap, gathers the composure that makes him a successful attorney, and returns Alicia’s bewildered gaze with a practiced smile.  “You know what?  You’re right.  Forget I said anything.”

But his words make an unseen force wrench Alicia’s head to look across the room to face the person who was once her best friend.   Will has turned for the moment, talking to someone else, and undistracted, Kalinda feels Alicia’s eyes on her.  Their gazes meet, and Alicia’s been caught. The corners of Kalinda’s mouth turn up, tentative, like she’s afraid even a smile will still be rejected.

 _“I’m the same person,”_ she’d said.  _“I knew I could help, so I helped.”_

The same person.  The same person who looked out for Alicia, the one who listened to her and coached her, the one who gave her the rarest bright smiles over boardroom tables and car consoles and bartops just like this one.  The same person who, once upon a time with a different name, slept with Alicia’s husband and didn’t breathe a word.

And right then, for a flash and a heartbeat, Alicia sees. 

_“Can you do that?”_

Kalinda doesn’t promise, she doesn’t open up.  She doesn’t owe people, she doesn’t _need_ people.  She gives as little as she has to, and it’s usually enough. 

But Kalinda thought that by keeping quiet, she was giving Alicia, if not happiness, peace.  It was the wrong choice.  But it was the same person making it, indeed – the one who was fiercely protecting Alicia from the very beginning.  The one who is still protecting her.

_“Yeah.”_

As if it weren’t against her very nature.  As if weren’t the one thing that, to Alicia’s knowledge, Kalinda never gave to _anyone_.

A sudden heat floods Alicia, like the appearance of sun from behind the largest cloud, like tequila down her throat.  She drags her eyes away.

“I should go mingle,” Cary tells her, gathering his drink to him like a security blanket.  His fair skin is pinked, either from the liquor or from the dawning realization of what Kalinda would do to him if she knew he was talking about her business.  “I’ll be seeing you, Alicia.  Often.”

She barely notices his exit.   Will appears beside her, a minute or an hour later.  Her wine, rich and fruity when first put in front of her, now tastes inexplicably too sweet.  She remembers other drinks – feeling fuzzy and light and peaceful and Kalinda looking at her in that way that felt _special,_ that Alicia had convinced herself must have been a mirage or a trick.

“You okay?  I saw you talking to the man of the hour.”  Will is polite these days, protective and kind but careful.  “He’s not still playing little psych-out games out of habit, is he?”

The corner of her unfocused gaze sees that Cary has taken Will’s place next to Kalinda now.  His fingers are on her arm in not-quite-yet-unprofessional familiarity while he says something to her, face soft with tipsy fondness.  Another, less shocking revelation: if he were right in what he’d said to Alicia, Kalinda isn’t the only one in love. 

Alicia shakes her head; slow, dazed.  “No.  He’s fine.”

“Good.”  Will’s still studying her curiously.  “If you need a ride, I can give you one.  You want to escape?”

She does.  She’d really rather forget it all, write it off to too much booze and Cary’s possessive instinct.  She doesn’t want to think about, if it’s true, how much Kalinda’s been hurting, too.  Doesn’t want to think about what it means to her, to them.

But time has passed, and tides have turned.  Cary is coming home, Will is finding his way.  Kalinda says she’s the same person, but Alicia Florrick has changed.  She likes to think she’s stronger now, and… she’s tired of hiding from everything.  So she puts on her bravest face. 

“Not this time.”


End file.
